


S'apprivoiser

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Emotional Intelligence [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Brain Damage, Cameos, Fix-It of Sorts, Frozen Teardrop has a lot to answer for, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Newtypes (Gundam Wing), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Prisoner of War, Quatre Raberba's Uchuu no Kokoro | Space Heart, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29763645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: Quatre had heard of the fanatical loyalty the OZ troops, the Treize faction had for their leader but this time he'd felt it, and more to the point had a clear reason why driven home in that feeling. Treize was easily equally if not more fanatical in his loyalty towards his men as they were to him.
Relationships: Treize Khushrenada/Quatre Raberba Winner, Trowa Barton & Quatre Raberba Winner
Series: Emotional Intelligence [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186436
Kudos: 3





	S'apprivoiser

**Author's Note:**

> S'apprivoiser (French): literally 'to tame', but a mutual process - both sides slowly learning to trust the other and eventually accepting each other

It had been somewhat distracting and a little odd that he had been expected to go along to Treize’s medical. Although half the time Quatre had been there, he had been having bloods taken, and weight, blood pressure, and other stats done as the general was being scanned and having his eye examined and retina photographed as well as some more thorough scans and imaging of his splenectomy.

Quatre wasn't quite used to Treize’s habit of not quite getting dressed entirely.

He was... the exact opposite of self conscious. Completely uncaring that he was wandering between scans in nothing but his boots and uniform pants, and the bandages covering his wounds and bruises between inspections, though he had an excellent physique. Quatre kept catching himself watching, and now looking at the man's naked back, the curve where the small of his back was just covered by the fabric of his pants. There was some scarring, but Quatre expected scars on pilots. If you survived, you were happy, injured or not. Piloting mechs was dangerous even on a good day and it was a rare mission to come back without cuts and bruises just from operating the machine.

Treize finally pulled his shirt on, and started to button up the tiny buttons. "I am sorry about this, Quatre. I don't quite want to leave you at the house yet until I've had time to socialize you with the staff. You must be bored. Has John stopped bleeding you yet?"

"I think so," Quatre replied. The image of that lower back curve lingered in his memory as if his mind was mulling over the taste of his thoughts. "I'm not bored. I'm used to my own company, though I do like that of others."

The man made quick work of tucking it in and then fastening the belt before reaching for the waistcoat. It was a fussy uniform, and he had often wondered how it worked out in battle. "If you're watching me, it's only fair that I watch out for you."

"You don't have to. You have a lot to do without worrying about me," Quatre answered automatically. The prodding and scanning hurt some but not as much as it had done in the past. "Do you... Are you seeing the men today as you have the uniform on?"

Watson snorted over in the corner. "It'll be a command performance no doubt."

"I've missed having people be asses to me," Treize commented, fussing with the tiny buttons before he reached for the jacket. "It's good to be back in Luxembourg. Just the staff and the colonels from the divisions. Quick hello, reassurances, then I plan to disappear for a good... week." He was clearly trying to see what John thought of that.

"At least, and then we'll reassess," Watson said. "Because sometimes your version of resting is not actually that restful. Sometimes we just have to wait for our miracles."

Quatre looked at the doctor feeling that strange twitch of intuition he sometimes had that made him convinced he was a creation rather than his father's son. He was waiting for someone to come back from the impossible, whiling away the years. He just wanted to tell him it was okay, it was going to be okay, but not here and now.

"And you, Mr. Winner, you need to stop following his bad example," he added.

"I have so many bad examples to set for him, John. Failure to rest being the first of them." He buttoned the jacket, and seemed except for the bandages covering his left eye and the left side of his face, exactly like His Excellency as Quatre had seen him on and off in bits of data streams during the war. A rumor, not a person.

A rumor who had Quatre carrying a bag of medications. 

"Treize, for once in your life just try and do what the doctor orders hmm?" Watson sounded fondly exasperated and glanced at Quatre. "If you manage to corral him then you will be the first. There will be a medal."

Quatre smiled. "I don't have any medals. I wouldn't know what to do with one."

"Keep it in the bottom of a desk drawer." Treize extended his hand to John. "Thank you. And it is good to see you again."

"I'll see you in a week," Watson answered, shaking his hand, and Quatre followed Treize out of the room. He was wondering what a week might do. He needed to think through everything and work out what was actually going on. Treize seemed to genuinely have expected to die and had not been expecting to deal with him so the odds of there being another convoluted plan and power moves was unlikely.

"You look like you're expecting me to kick a puppy," Treize declared casually. He seemed to know the layout of the offices quite well and led the way down a stairwell that he took as slowly going down as he had taken his time going up. That was fine for Quatre, just leaving the fanciful townhouse and going there seemed like quite enough for the day.

"I'm sorry," he replied, looking down at his feet. "I was just thinking. I'm still having issues and the examination hurt a little. Where are we going now?"

"Back home. If you don't mind posting up on my office sofa while I talk to the staff, and then you have your afternoon back."

"I have to stay close otherwise you'll forget your antibiotics," Quatre replied dryly. Maybe he could do some research.

"Lady Une would be proud of you." He went through the door first and held it for Quatre; the low key black car they had arrived in was idling outside in a bus lane. No one seemed to care. 

He wasn't sure if that was a compliment. They all knew of Lady Une and could admire her efficiency although her loyalty had become zealotry and lost perspective... but then who was he to criticize that? He followed again wondering why he was doing this. The doctor had suggested that he was suffering from combat fatigue and possible depression but he wasn't sure about that. He was functioning, he could even smile and make the odd amusing quip.

That was enough.

They got into the car, and with the tinted soundproof glass between them and the driver, he watched Treize sag into the thick leather seat. "How are you feeling about tagging along with me day to day?"

"At the moment it's where I should be," he replied. "You're right, without your company there are some who might misunderstand the arrangement."

He wasn't so blind that he couldn't see behind most soldiers in OZ there would be a story of loss of a friend or loved one connected to the colonies or to the Gundams.

He didn't understand why Treize seemed to hold none of those common grudges. Wufei had nearly killed him, taken his eye and caused him possible brain damage. "I've always had an aide-de-camp to manage my schedule and be an extra set of ears in meetings. You'll have a different perspective and I can benefit from that."

"Do you want me to take notes?" he asked. He had a very good memory, so much so people often assumed that he wasn't paying attention. It was just what he felt was the most important things were the reasons and patterns that drove the actions.

"If you have the memory not to take notes, that's best. Just look like you're idling off on your data pad." He closed his eye, the left side mess covered in dressings again. "And it will be a very short few meetings. What do you do in your free time?"

"It's been some time," Quatre replied and tried to think about the question. "I... like music." It felt like it had been a long time since he had played violin or piano. "Our family had little free time." Idleness had not been tolerated; there was always something to learn or work on.

"There's a piano gathering dust in the library if it interests you." The man folded his hands loosely in his lap, like forced relaxation as the car started to move. "And there's the library itself, which you might find interesting."

"I would enjoy that." He smiled a little, remembering playing the violin with Trowa on the flute and the connection that had formed then which they had never spoken of but he knew existed. Perhaps it was music, he wasn't sure, but it had been strong enough to break ZERO and that took something very powerful.

He wasn't going to forget that.

"Good. That's on the second floor. What languages do you speak? French, German, just Universal?" He supposed that OZ had never really figured that out about him.

"Universal, Arabic, French fluently," Quatre answered, grateful for his father's insistence that he learn a lot of major business partners' dialects. "An acquaintance with Mandarin, German and some colonial dialects."

"French is a relief. Most of our staff speak French or German." Treize rubbed at the side of his head and opened his eye to look over at Quatre. "And Universal of course. There's quite a lot of Dutch, and Luxembourgish, and a tendency to default to native in small groups." And the more he knew the better he was at eavesdropping.

He would learn the languages properly; he had an ear for it and apparently the time now and knowing a native language was always an advantage. He'd managed to learn enough Mandarin to understand Wufei when he was muttering to himself and also not to make a fool of himself when he tried to speak slowly to the other pilot. He'd never heard Heero speak anything else aside from Universal but he had polished his French talking with Trowa.

If French was a heavily used language in the office, he was going to improve even more. "Other skills you're interested in sharing?"

"I'm aware of most business and logistical processes involved in resource distribution," Quatre answered. His father's business distilled down to a sentence. "I can fly most things." And had done so. "I ensured I was trained as a field medic following several disastrous incidents. " He paused a moment. "Strategic analysis and implementation."

Immediately his intrusive thoughts started whispering he was at fault for all that had happened. He'd been too weak. All those who died had been because he hadn’t been able to think of a way out of it, because he hadn’t wanted to finish Dorothy when the opening came, and couldn't find the weak spot to demolish the falling block. Too... something.

"Excellent." Treize tapped his own knee, looking thoughtfully at Quatre. Maybe there wasn't a plan, but there might be a plan in the works. "And what do you think of the mess you're coming into?"

"I think I don't know enough," Quatre said thoughtfully and truthfully. "I think no one knows exactly what to do but there are power blocs that need dealing with before they start thinking there is a power vacuum to fill."

That made Treize smile, oddly. "We're moving steadily to the elections in July. And there are conferences to be planned between now and then; enough bait for those people who think they can grab the gold ring."

"I need more information," Quatre muttered half to himself and then glanced at the other man. "If you want me to look at that."

"I want you to look at it. You'll be able to catch up on what we've decided so far, and I'll have to keep up with the meetings again after this setback." It didn't seem restful at all, or like he was planning to take time off after he'd just promised the doctor he'd rest.

"You were told to rest," Quatre reminded him. "I said I would make sure that you do."

"If I'm sitting down in my quarters, and no one can see me, does it count as resting?" It was hard to tell if the question was rhetorical or not. 

"I'm not sure," Quatre said dryly. "We'd have to conduct an experiment. Actual resting versus pretending."

The man gave a quiet chuckle, as the car eased to a stop again, pulling up into the gated parking spaces in front of the house. "What does actual resting mean to you, Quatre?"

"Allowing your body and mind to recover," Quatre replied automatically. Trowa came to mind again and the quietness and companionship. "We're all poor at it."

"What would you do to rest, now?" He opened the car door, and there was another blast of cold air and the bite of what felt like threatening weather. The General waited for Quatre to follow, and started up the stairs into the front door.

"Read next to a fire," he said. Not glamorous but truthful. He wanted the warmth and to collect his thoughts.

"I'll have wood put in the fireplace for you." The house was warmer than the outside had been, but it was still a bit bone deep cold. Right off the hallway to the right was a wooden door that swung both ways and Treize pushed it open with familiarity. The walls were a faint off white, high ceilinged, and it was somehow inviting and cold all at once. There was a sofa and a bookcase set in, and an abandoned desk just to one side, and then closer to the bay windows at the end were a large desk and chairs positioned facing it, which Treize headed to as he shrugged out of his coat. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

He found a spot where he could observe Treize and presumably anyone that came in and then chose a random book and picked up his datapad. "I will stay here I think," he half suggested.

"It won't be long." He didn't believe that at all, not at all, but the sofa was comfortable to fold up on, even wearing a uniform. Treize seemed to settle heavily into the chair behind the desk, and pulled up a console from the desktop. There were a couple of photo frames he could see the back of, and that was oddly... normal.

"Sergeant, send in Colonel Whitinger from Plans."

Quatre pulled up his data pad, and started research, slipping back into the habit simply enough. He'd done that a lot before, in the war, but it was a lot easier when he'd had a week or so of eating properly and not flying in a Gundam more often than he was out of it. Dr. Watson was likely to be appalled at the signs of old fractures from his medical, but then he'd treated Treize and he was likely to be the same. Zechs no doubt would have been worse and Heero would light up his scans like no one else.

Patterns started to seamlessly appear before his eyes in the data, and he was making intuitive correlations, a skill that his father had said made them truly Winners and he was half listening to Colonel Whittinger from Plans when he finally arrived because as far as he could tell, there were no plans.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?" Whittinger said. Quatre spared him a glance. Tall and reedy looking with a dark sallow complexion. He noticed the other man's twist of... something in his expression when he glanced at him as well.

That was interesting, and he couldn't quite place it. Dismissal and disgust all at the same time, revulsion at a thought, and then shoving it down as he faced his General. "I know the side's been let down a bit in the aftermath of the Eve Wars. I need Plans to immediately begin work on the impact of one sixth smaller force. I also need you to pretend you've been hard at work on the security for the elections. Have you been in coordination with comms and personnel?" The people from the building to the left of the grand townhouse they were in rather than the people from the one in the right. Half a city block shouldn't have been a communication barrier.

"Uh, yes, sir," Whittinger replied. "We implemented the usual security details, and have used the plans that were drawn up for the elections in previous years..."

Quatre could swear he could practically feel Treize wanting to bury his head in his hands. Previous plans wouldn't be enough. "The plans for the elections that weren't free and open, and focused on small mayoral areas," Treize said very calmly. "Which were not being held simultaneously, around the world." He pressed a button on his desk. "Sergeant, send me the head of Personnel and Comms. Colonel, take a seat."

Worldwide elections to elect representatives for a combined space and Earth political body needed to be done in a very different way. Time was running out, as well; the longer you waited, the more chance the process had of fragmenting. That would benefit no one. Quatre started rapidly working on a rough working model of how to use existing processes and expand them. It had some complexities, but they could be managed. In the fifteen minutes before the Head of Personnel came up, he had a rough proposition that was superior to the existing arrangements. He wasn't completely happy with it though and... well, he hadn't been asked to do anything so he kept tinkering with it as she entered.

"General Khushrenada, you asked to see me?" 

"Colonel Rawa, we're going to be raising the age of joining to eighteen as of the conference in May. Soldiers who are below that age should be given a choice. You'll be contacted shortly by members from a Sanc-based research team, and they will want to see our records. They will see our actual records. Colonel Rawa, you will need to work with Whittinger on the impacts that has on our force structure and his mobilization schedules."

"Sir, that will have a dramatic impact in terms of our overall structure," Colonel Rawa said, sounding just a hint horrified.

Quatre raised his eyebrow to himself. If they were still in a wartime footing, then it would be inadvisable and the power structure would crumble. But they needed less of the... well, canon fodder. He hated thinking like that, but in strategy, it was the case. They would need to divert funds into developing a force that had the ability to easily move between Earth and Space. It was the only way to ensure that the peace was kept. Now... now that had definite possibilities.

"I had realized that, yes." Treize lifted his one visible eyebrow at them. "This has been a unity government decision; we will abide by it, as we are collectively no longer going to be on a war footing after we transition to an elected ESUN. Do I make myself clear? Both of you?"

"Yes, sir," they both saluted but Whittinger apparently couldn't let it go completely.

"Sir, the logistics involved in a worldwide election are nigh on impossible in the timescale," he stated with the arrogance of someone completely sure he could not be contested.

Quatre hesitated and then, using the network sharing, seamlessly slid the proposition he had been toying with on his datapad so it popped up on Treize's screen. He suspected strongly if Whittinger knew it was from him, he would make it fail.

He watched Treize's eye drop to the screen, and then look back up at the Colonel. "If you tell me it's impossible, you're telling me you're the wrong man for the job. Are you the wrong man for the job?" He pressed something on the desk and suddenly the plan was projected onto one of the bland off-white walls.

Whittinger stared at it a moment. It was a little rough, but the concept was sound. The networks that had been established to ensure that the mobile dolls had full coverage of data transmission could easily be repurposed to have ultra secure unhackable data streams. It was sufficiently positioned to cover Earth and the key areas in space. They would have to have security details around voting areas which would be similar, but the main change would be the security around where everything was collated. He had suggested the Sanc kingdom as a neutral ground for the pre-election negotiations and the centralized coalition.

It was obvious, and everyone rallied around the symbol of peace. "Which is why you need to be speaking with your counterpart from communications." Treize's voice sounded less flat when he spoke about the communications group; he preferred them, Quatre could sense that.

"I understand why you called me here now, sir," Colonel Rawa said looking enthused. "This... proposition is so obvious that somehow we overlooked we had this infrastructure in place. Of course, the military could never have opened it up for use before but... yes, sir, we can do this in the timeframe and link it to existing means of voting."

"This plan creates an obvious weak point where the central collation point is. Would the Sanc kingdom allow a strong security force to be present?"

Quatre nodded to himself. They would, but that was also deliberate. He'd suggest the real collation be in one area, and the forces based somewhere slightly different.

"They've invited us." Treize did bring a hand up to the bridge of his nose, looking frustrated for a brief flash.

"With the dignitaries likely to assemble there, it would make for a prime target and if our forces are spread out across the Earth..."

And technically they had five Gundam pilots who had literally taken on armies before. Heero would probably say he could handle it all himself. He deliberately put down his mug, making a sound that would draw attention his way, and nudge Treize’s thoughts that way if he hadn't thought of it already.

"Sanc has options of their own for security, and Colonel Noin will be coordinating specialists for the day," Treize said smoothly. "Have I introduced you to my new aide-de-camp? Pilot 04."

"Hey," Quatre said, giving a small wave. "Good to meet you both." He wasn't sure if he was part of the structure properly so he acted as if he wasn't.

Both of them looked a little shocked. "That is Pilot 04?" Whittinger blurted out.

"My name is Quatre," he said mildly, wondering if it was because he looked younger than he was.

"He's part of my household," Treize commented. "And is to be accorded the same courtesy I receive. I expect a sitrep in my files from both of you in the morning." The fact that the comms officer hadn't arrived yet went unmentioned.

"Yes, sir." They knew not to cross him at least and left a little chastened.

Quatre stood up for a moment.

"I hope that was okay?" he asked a little tentatively.

"That was quite creative," he remarked, looking pleased and angry at the same time. The door opened again, with someone knocking on it.

"Sir? Sorry, I was out back smoking." The missing comms Colonel sidled into the room, looking at the projection on the screen. "Oh, huh."

"Tell me you have a PACE plan, Veorg, and I won't push you down the stairs the next time you're in the library."

"Oh yeah, yeah, don't worry about that, but this is interesting. It's not your handwriting, so who?" Treize indicated Quatre, and the man trailed off.

It seemed he would be getting credit after all. "It's just a rough idea," he said. "I'm sure it can be significantly improved upon."

"Yeah, but it's sharp," the man complimented, sticking his hands into his pockets. He seemed about the General's age, so perhaps they had come up together. He glanced over at Quatre. "Where'd he come from?"

"You missed the formal introduction," Treize remarked, sitting back in his chair. "Pilot 04."

"Can we have him?"

"No. He's in my household. But I appreciate your determination to poach the best and the brightest."

Quatre found himself surprised at the praise. His fellow Gundam pilots weren't much for praise at all so it was a little bit of a shock. "I could write the code if you need it?" he offered tentatively. "It wouldn't take long, I know how it works."

Colonel Veorg gestured at Quatre, in a 'look at this!' sort of way. "They're all paid very good money to write the code themselves."

"It's not that good. Booze is expensive." The man got closer to the desk, and tapped the top of it. "It's damn good to see you again, sir. I saw that Gundam hit Tallgeese, and I swore you were a goner."

Treize obviously liked Veorg in a way where Whittinger tasked his patience. He saw him smile wryly and Quatre said. "Apparently not even certain death could stop him."

"No, apparently not."

"Shame about the eye," Veorg commented. Treize was getting up from behind the desk, and there was an awkward moment before Veorg invaded his space and awkwardly hugged him, one armed. "Really good to see you up and about, sir. I'll start loading up your files."

Quatre inhaled sharply; he felt that emotional surge, sensed it, as if that part of himself was waking up again and had been jabbed awake by a needle sharp intensity of emotion. Something he had felt between them, that flare of loyalty and respect and something he only found among the troops who had faced death together. Having felt so empty and deadened inside since the Eve Wars, he had wondered if his strange ability had faded with their 'victory'.

Apparently not.

It was hard to read Treize's expression, but he hugged the man in return and stepped back. "I'll just." Veorg gestured to the door, and started to it.

"It's good to see you, Thierry. We'll catch up."

"Thanks, sir." He let himself out without looking at Quatre again.

He'd heard of the fanatical loyalty the OZ troops, the Treize faction had for their leader but this time he'd felt it, and more to the point had a clear reason why driven home in that feeling. Treize was easily equally if not more fanatical in his loyalty towards his men as they were to him.

The General remained standing, watching the door for a moment, and turned off the projector, disconnecting his data pad from the table. "That's enough of that for the day."

"Are you okay?" he asked softly. He stepped forward without thinking as if that would help. "You didn't think you would see them again."

"No, and I hadn't quite realized. Entirely. The weight of that decision." He was still looking toward the door and seemed to shake himself into action a little. "He's an excellent officer. What we need in the coming years."

"I did have another idea, but I was... reluctant to mention it without knowing who you trusted," Quatre declared. "Whittinger... did not seem open to ideas."

"Whittinger will sleep on it and come around. He's resistant to new ideas but comes around when one pairs them with a potential for praise. I inherited him from the Alliance, a defector." So Quatre has been right, about the feeling of a Specials officer as compared to another. "Come, we can finish talking upstairs."

Quatre nodded and followed again which seemed to be par for the course at the moment.

He still had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

He hadn't worked out what was going on inside the pilot's head. But once they were upstairs, Treize sent Quatre to his suite to change out of the uniform and sent himself to his bedroom to do the same.

It was a surprisingly arduous task, undressing, putting away his uniform, grabbing a pair of slacks and a button down shirt so he could at least summon staff and be presentable if he got to reading and wanted to speak to someone.

The ‘if he got to reading’ thing was an ongoing challenge.

Much as he was used to dealing with injuries, he had to admit he had rarely been in this state of exhaustion. He paused, leaning on his bed to catch his breath. It was with mild surprise that he found Quatre had appeared with a drink and some pills to give him.

"Are you going to rest, too?" he asked.

He hadn't expected the young man to just show up in his bedroom while he was half leaning, half sitting on the edge of his bed, buttoning his shirt. "That is my plan. Go into the study, perhaps put some music on, and rest. Do you want wood for your fireplace?"

"I'll join you in the study," he replied, deftly avoiding anything that might mean Treize had to do something. "Take the pills. You need them." He smiled and then left as quietly as he could.

Treize looked at them first, trying to place what was what in the handful, and then took a swig of water to hold in his mouth while he popped each one down one after the other. If Quatre wanted to kill him, he would've already been dead, he kept reminding himself.

He made his way, glass of water in hand, back to the study. It was better to have Quatre enter his space and be comfortable there than to upset what was essentially his prisoner by intruding on the small bit of privacy he had.

And he had no fondness for his childhood bedrooms.

Quatre had settled into one of the large chairs near the fireplace with his data pad and he still didn't understand him. On the one hand he seemed wary, and then at the same time he had helped him, personally and professionally. It was a contradiction logically speaking. The people he knew didn’t do that.

He went to the speakers and spent a few minutes reacquainting himself with what should have been such an easy thing, but eventually found some music that was easy, orchestral, not particularly challenging. His head was aching again. "Do you have preferences?"

"I like most music but classical is good," Quatre replied. "Have a seat, you're looking pale."

"I'm feeling pale," he admitted, sitting down into the other chair by the fire. It was a relief to be in a chair, to lean back, and finish the glass of water he'd been carrying around. "What did you think?"

"The meeting?" Quatre half asked. "I was concerned that Whittinger seemed to dislike me on sight. I'm unsure why."

"Oh." He set his water glass on the floor, and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. "I have a reputation. Of being a bit..." What words could he use that wouldn't possibly offend Quatre. "Promiscuous."

It took a comically long time for Quatre to cotton on.

"So he thought that you and I... oh. " He blushed then, it showing up remarkably against his fair skin.

That made him smile, and he added a chuckled, "Oh yes. I'm half dead, and I don't know how I'd manage, but yes. I have a reputation."

"Apparently they have confidence in your... recovery time," Quatre said and it took him a moment to realize he had made a bit of a joke.

He laughed, really laughed, slouching down into the chair to stare into the fire. "Apparently they do. So it's not you so much as me. I enjoy having company."

"You do, don't you?" Quatre half stated. "I can tell that. I haven't quite worked out where I stand though."

It was such a damn odd phrase, like he had somehow verified it. All one needed to do was follow the data streams and occasionally entertainment news streams hit it, but this sounded like something different. "Where do you stand on what?" 

"On what I am doing here. If I'm a prisoner or... something else." He shook his head. "I told Dorothy that we had to accept everything when she... had stabbed me. I'm trying to be better at that, but I'm worried about the others."

"Think of it as a very strange job that has an interest in knowing where you are. I think we'll have this sorted within a year. You, however, are only responsible for your actions during this time period, and no one else's." He cared, he cared for his fellow pilots even though there had been little enough sign that they were concerned in turn, although communications had been locked down tightly and he had personally spent much of the past three days semi conscious. "I can reach out to the others if you want an update."

"I would appreciate it," Quatre murmured, and his head dipped a little as he looked at his hands. "I feel responsible for them. For the situation they are in now."

"You are in the situation you are in now because Chang Wufei pulled his blow. This is what happens when you grant mercy to your enemy, unfortunately." He could start there, with Sally, so he reached for his data pad to leave a non-urgent message with her. In French. Universal would have been more appropriate, but. Well.

"Wufei has a connection with you," Quatre said, taking a deep breath. "I think you were in his thoughts most of the days and nights after your first duel."

"That's terribly unfortunate for him as well," Treize quipped, unable to help himself. "He was an honorable man, willing to come out of his Gundam to fight me when he could have crushed me right there."

"Wufei would never do that," Quatre answered with a faint smile. "His honour was too important to him, as was yours."

"You know, I have his sword somewhere in storage." Treize tapped a note out to Sally, a brief stiff greeting, an inquiry on behalf of Quatre, and a line about the sword.

"He would no doubt like the opportunity to get it back. Or win it back. It is difficult to tell with Wufei,” Quatre mused. "He often did his own thing." Even when 04 was trying to organize them. Treize often wondered how that had worked.

"Everyone seemed to be doing their own thing for their own purposes. How did you find that?" He wrote something a little more open to Noin, because he needed to talk shop with her and he was curious how she was doing. They all missed Zechs, but her injury to the heart was particularly recent whereas his was more... old and complex.

"Difficult," Quatre admitted. "When I thought I was the only one sent, then that was one thing, but to me when I realized there were more of us, then it seemed completely logical to coordinate ourselves, to work together. But each of us were chosen for... different purposes."

"Operation Meteor, long planned and badly launched. It was originally to be a coordinated attack, but the colonies never could work together. It's why L3 executed their united leadership. Someone else was getting too much of the glory. It's no wonder we had initial reports of Gundams fighting each other and not attacking OZ." He closed the data pad; he had no idea what to say to Relena, and he didn't want to talk to Dorothy just then. His head hurt too much to contemplate it.

Quatre was looking at him. "Yes, we didn't know each of us existed and some of us were more prone to believing that any suit that appeared had to be OZ."

Treize leaned his head back against the large armchair, tapping the data pad lightly against his leg. "Because we had terrorized the colonies that much."

"There was a lot of history," Quatre said diplomatically. "Finding the true path wasn't easy as opinions shifted and changed." He paused and looked at him. "You're in pain. I should stop talking."

"I'm fine. I enjoy talking." Treize quirked his eyebrow at Quatre. "It's proving to be a struggle to focus on reading right now. I have no idea what I just sent out."

"Most people would be surprised that you are sending anything at all," Quatre got up hesitantly. "Can I see if I can help your headache? It's just a bit of massage. I used to do it for... actually all of the others when they got injured. " He gave a small smile. "We got injured a lot, thinking back on it."

He closed his eye, and staved off the mental image of the pilot snapping his neck; it wasn't as disturbing as it could have been. The relentless repetition of living was a burden he had thought to drop. "I have no idea how any of you are alive. I knew men who died quickly from less."

"I believe the theory was young bones and bodies repair quicker and are more flexible," he answered coming up to stand behind him. His fingers were initially deliciously cool on his temples and then it felt like a golden warmth was flowing from them as he moved then in gentle circles. The pain was literally draining away in a way that felt intoxicating.

"I'm using the word men loosely, given the age my unit started at," Treize continued. It was the oddest damn thing; he hadn't been able to shift the pain behind his eye for any amount of painkillers. The electricity, he'd been told, had damaged the muscle behind the eye and made the whole thing worse.

"True," Quatre said and he could feel it just flow away as if drugs were involved but his mind was clear. "Some of us were trained earlier than others. Heero, I believe was one of the longest. Also Trowa, I'm not sure if he can remember at all. Duo, well, from what he says and doesn't say his entire life has been training in a roundabout way and Wufei, I think he was brought up with it though his true interest was as a scholar."

"And you?" He had the oddest sensation, like he was back in Epyon, and for a moment there was a flash of memory, of Zechs after his first battle, standing there young and jaunty and rough and scared because Mogadishu had been a terrible battle and he thought of his brother, thought of Vingt lingering in the doorway when Angelina kissed him, the images rising up unbidden, and he jerked and grabbed Quatre's wrist hard.

"What?" Quatre asked, sounding perplexed. He looked a little pained as Treize gripped his wrist and there were probably bruises there from where Dorothy had disarmed him still lingering under the surface.

"You, did you do that?" He couldn't quite let go just yet, because that had been like a knife, a shock of things he preferred to leave buried.

"Did I do what?" Quatre asked, sounding worried. "Did you see something? The others said they did sometimes but I thought it was because they finally relaxed a little. I wasn't trying to do anything but..."

There was something then. Something he knew about at least in part.

"You did." He let go of Quatre's wrist, lingering apologetically. "I, I'm sorry, that was disturbing. I didn't expect it."

"I guess that didn't make it into your files about me," Quatre said hesitantly. "But then, no one really believes in... differences."

"You're a newtype." He stayed twisted around, staring up at Quatre. "What do you..." His head was pain free and suddenly he had a rush of thoughts and half a panic. "Do you know what you hit when you do that?"

"...I'm not sure what you mean?" Quatre asked, sounding worried. "I just think about taking the pain away and making you feel better. And I've not heard the word newtype before. I don't know if I am or I'm not."

"Spaceborn psychic -- only shows up in colonists, or people with colonial blood. Did you see anything when you touched me?" So he knew he could... move pain and thought it nothing important.

Quatre looked horrified. "I don't go looking into things that are private," he said and then grimaced as if double checking himself for the truth and finding himself wanting. "Once... I did once with Heero. I used it to pull him out of ZERO madness. " He moved around so he could look at Treize. "I swear I didn't see anything. My experience of it has mainly been me picking up on people's emotions and pain."

"Don't look. You're not going to see anything you want to see." He managed to keep his voice calm, and was carefully trying to bring down his heart rate and he couldn't quite stop looking at the young man. "What do you pick up on?" 

"I thought it had faded away after the battle and injuries, but I had a moment earlier and thought it might be back a little," Quatre said apologetically and the words came tumbling out. "I'm sorry, Treize, I didn't mean to do anything. I just wanted to help. It helped the others. I guess in general, I get a sense about people. If they're good people underneath everything. I... with some people I get on really well with, I think there's a bond? It tells me if they need me, or help. In battle, though, I can sense... things. Emotions, pain, and when Heero self destructed and nearly died, I thought someone had ripped my heart out of my chest physically. It's difficult to explain."

"You don't need to explain." Treize knew about them; people had stopped looking for newtypes in the 160s, but his mother had always sworn the Yuys had something in their blood, in her insistence that his father wasn't completely gone from her.

He took another slow breath, keeping it tamped down because Quatre didn't deserve to be lashed out at. He had to catch so much blowback that wasn't meant for him if he had these abilities. This was a whole other variable thrown into this mess. "You shifted a pain I've had since December 25th, and for that I'm grateful. You're not very well yourself, and you should be sitting down. I'm sorry if I startled you."

"But if I invaded your mind..." Quatre seemed genuinely distressed at the thought. "I swear I didn't know. It makes you uncomfortable and that is the last thing I wanted to do."

"It's fine. I have plenty of mental landmines that I have to avoid myself, so there's no way for you to know." He managed to give Quatre a tight smile. "But while you're up, if you could call down for tea, I'd appreciate it."

It seemed it distracted the other man enough to go and do that, but his movements were agitated.

He was starting to believe that Quatre was the type of person that didn't exist in his world. Someone who genuinely cared, even about people who were relative strangers to him, and who, Treize acknowledged, were highly likely to be a threat to Quatre. That was the strangest thing. "It's really fine. It's hard to keep secrets in these close quarters."

He really needed to read some of the reports about the pilots in more detail.

"It's okay if you feel too uncomfortable with me near you," Quatre said. "I understand." His voice wavered just a little and he turned away busying himself clearing somewhere for the tea to go.

What was that about? Why would him potentially being sent away from Treize be unsettling for him? If anything it could potentially be a better set up to escape from and surely that was what he wanted?

"Did I not say I need an aide-de-camp?" He leaned back in the chair again, half watching Quatre. "This means you're going to learn things about me that perhaps we both find uncomfortable. But it goes both ways, and that's part of the job."

"I won't do anything like that unless you ask me to," Quatre promised and again there was that subtle strain in his voice. "I did not know that OZ had been researching anything like this."

"OZ hasn't. I have." He waited until Quatre was sitting down across from the fire again, in his own chair. "How much do you know of colonial politics?"

"Of some colonies a great deal, of others much less," Quatre answered. He looked a little calmer at that revelation.

"Did you hear of the original Heero Yuy, who pilot 01 was ironically named after?" He let that question stand alone for a moment.

"Yes. He was my father's inspiration," Quatre answered. "He was a committed pacifist as well."

"Assassinated for it." Treize folded his hands loosely in his lap. "His death planted the seeds for Operation Meteor, which brought you to Earth. He worked very closely with his nephew, who carried on his message of peace and unity for a short three years more before he was also assassinated. My mother was convinced they were both newtypes."

"They were?" Quatre leaned forward. "Why did she think that?" He was obviously intrigued, but then he didn't seem to have heard of other newtypes until now.

"Something about the way they interacted with other people. But I read about newtypes, and it seemed very possible. She hoped that it had bred true in the line." He quirked an eyebrow at Quatre, watching the interest in the young man's face. "It did not. Rummage the bookshelves and sideboards next door sometime. Vingt took copious notes on it and I left them in place."

"I will, thank you," Quatre answered. "There is no genetic lineage that has led to anything I can do. None of my sisters are like this. My family just indulged my strange notions or ignored them."

"Your sisters are clones." Treize was about to say more, but there was a knock on the door, polite. "Come!"

Their tea was brought in, complete with small cakes and pastries and placed down on the side. Treize was also handed over a packet which had Veorg's unmistakable scrawl on it. 'Media Problem' was all it said. He looked inside and saw a picture of Quatre sitting cuffed In a hospital A&E, covered in blood, a bruise purpling up on his face and his expression clearly drawn with pain and exhaustion. He looked like the worst case scenario for a prisoner.

It was a picture on an inflammatory article, speculating about how prisoners of war were being treated.

"Ah." And it was about a day old, so he wondered what had slowed the release? They'd had a three day lead and hadn't taken it to the full extent they could have. "You photograph well."

Quatre looked at him perplexed. "A photograph? When was I photographed?"

Treize showed him the picture and he blanched. "Oh, that's... not good news."

"You're very good looking in photos." He tossed both the article and the photo carefully over to Quatre, and opened his data pad again, now that his head was hurting less. "Media is being handled by Dorothy, which means unfortunately she's probably already at work on this."

"It's all explicable but people might react badly to seeing that," Quatre said, sounding ashamed almost. "Duo and Trowa maybe. The Maguanacs."

"Your loyal aides," Treize remarked, dialing up Dorothy, and hoping both that she was available and that he looked half human. He hadn't talked to her directly, one on one, since the war.

"My friends," Quatre corrected and shrugged. "They do have a tendency to follow me."

"General, sir," she said on the video link. "How can I help you?"

"I was unaware we've gone formal, Cousin. Should it be Madam Catalonia, instead?" She had inherited heavily from her father's death five years before, and had no doubt inherited again from her grandfather Dermail's death. He knew his own stepfather, Hundelt, had done well enough on that inheritance that the man hadn't written asking for money since the wars. Or perhaps he just thought it was in poor taste.

But probably the first one.

"I thought it cautious in case you were in company, cousin," she replied. She looked as sharp edged as ever.

"I'm in company." He kept an easy smile up, turning the data pad to show Quatre, sitting in the other armchair. "Who has not been beaten to within half an inch of his life as that article claimed. I assume you've seen it by now."

"Of course. There have been some interesting reactions," Dorothy replied. "Hello, Quatre. I see you are recovering."

"I am, thank you," Quatre said very politely.

"He was covered in my blood from a botched attempt to return home, but I suppose reality shouldn't interfere with a good story," he quipped, settling back into his own chair. It was one of those things that bothered at him, because he'd never done that to a prisoner. There was no sense in it.

"We managed to initially prevent any release, then it seems they had found another means to store the image and then sold it on to a more minor media route that did not have an agreement with us." Dorothy said brusquely. "I'm unsure, but I've tried to prevent it from coming to the attention of the other pilots."

Nor could they release the reality of the story without bringing into doubt the health and stability of one of the few leaders who was helping to hold things up. "Thank you. I suppose I'll have to make it a point that he's seen and photographed less dramatically."

"I cannot say that at some point they might not find out, cousin," she said. "Once onto the internet, there's little chance of complete containment."

"I could speak to them directly?" Quatre suggested hopefully.

"And they'll think I have a gun to your head." At least some of them would. 01 might actually take him at face value, but he could just as equally read a non-existent code in the conversation looking for escape.

"With all due respect, Quatre," Dorothy said with a hint of almost fond sounding exasperation which was most unusual for her. "You would forgive someone who ran you through with a sword and then plead with another friend to look after the person who stabbed you and to leave you behind. They're not going to take any message you give as being fine as literal truth."

That was a bit of detail he didn't remember seeing in the report.

"We'll simply have to steel ourselves for a public outing to prove that you're alive and healthy." And perhaps follow it with a long sleep because he wasn't sure how much of a show he could make just yet. "And see if someone will cover it."

"Is that wise, sir?" Dorothy said immediately. "Quatre has a powerbase that might target you if they get a lock on your position."

"I'm an easy man to find, Dorothy. You can look up my address in the public registries. I just wish I were a little less injured and able to spare the effort right now." He could see her look of concern, a brief quick thing. "Yes, and if I keel over you'll drown in taxes paying for your inheritance."

"Cousin, you know that's not why I'm concerned," she said. "Keep it lowkey and not too obvious, please."

"Perhaps it's best to let it lie until we have to attend the next conference." Wait for it to blow over; if anyone pursued him on it, he would deal with it as it came up. "How are you?"

"I'm well. Very relieved that you're alive." She flickered her glance away and he knew she was regretting the death of Milliardo.

He regretted it as well, but there was nothing to be done about it. And he couldn't say he was relieved as well to be alive. "I'm improving daily. Noin said you hadn't realized I was making those video calls with a filter. I'm rather childishly proud of that." In a month, well, he'd have some stamina back and he'd be able to put on a better show.

"I should have known," she said and sighed. "Especially with you. How well are you?"  
It was difficult to know how much to hide. She clearly knew he was injured.

"Learning to adjust." He tapped just below his left eye, the black cloth he was covering the dressings with. "Two eyes are superfluous."

"You look like a pirate," she said, faintly critical as she studied him. "You do seem to be doing well."

"I'm alive and I'm home again. Everything else will follow with time. OZ is hard at work, as I'm sure Noin has updated you, and I'll rejoin the daily calls in a couple of days." He was absolutely going to downplay it, and she was family enough, even if not by blood, to understand entirely what he was doing.

"I shall look forward to it. And I will pass on your regards to your fellow pilot, Quatre."

"Thank you, I just want to know if he's okay," Quatre said. "He's been through a lot and I didn't get to see him after the battle for very long.”

"If it'll abate any senseless attempts to escape, I'm more than happy to offer for them to talk, though I do plan on keeping Quatre busy as part of my staff." He didn't ask what Dorothy was planning; that was her own business to share or not.

"I'll ask him and maybe we can set something up. He's been rather quiet," Dorothy said, flicking her hair just a little which was a habit she’d always had, even when he was teaching her how to dance. Especially then. "Don't exhaust him too much, sir."

"We're trying to rest. Except my men keep leaving bad news at my door." He shrugged one shoulder, smiling at his cousin. "Let me know if there's anything I can do for you in the meantime."

"I will," Dorothy nodded and then saluted him before signing off.

Quatre had been relatively quiet during the whole thing and was deep in thought. "Maybe you should get rid of me," he said eventually. "I know you had sound reasons for having me here but I'm getting the impression I'm causing more trouble than I am worth.”

"You're causing an appropriate amount of trouble." He slouched slightly in the chair for a moment and then made a spirited effort to get up to get tea. "I'm walking a political line very badly right now."

"You weren't planning to be here," Quatre half stated, half asked. "Maybe if I knew what you were trying to achieve I could help."

"If I had died in battle, OZ would have surrendered, and Earth with it. The shock would have brought both sides together." He also would have been dead, and there was an allure there that he wasn't talking about. Couldn't, no, didn't want to articulate out loud, though he was toying with the idea. Was it rude to discuss suicide with a newtype? "I've been alive for a very long thirty-three years now, and I was quite tired of it."

But he had a cup of tea, and an interesting chocolate and pistachio pastry, and something with cherries, so he could make do with life for today at least.

"OZ did surrender, all that happened as you planned, the difference was you were impossibly still alive," Quatre pointed out.

"I'm a complication by existing. I don't fit the plan." He sipped at his tea, and balanced the small plate of treats in his leg. "You pilots should have had the victory that I didn't want."

"We had it. It's just that, like you, I don't think we were expecting to survive," Quatre declared. "I suspect Wufei had similar plans to you."

"Neither of us did a good job of it." He watched Quatre sip his tea, moving slowly. "And yet here we are, all alive. Somehow. And your men would like to kill me if they find where you are, which would kick off another round of revenge killings between Earth and the colonies, hmn?"

"They would stop if I told them to," Quatre commented a little wistfully. "Well, the Maguanacs would. You wanted to die. I did too, all of us, Zechs, Dorothy... do you see the correlating factor?”

"ZERO." He licked his bottom lip, and ate a bit of pastry. "I've tried to kill myself before. Without ZERO. I wouldn't call it correlating."

He saw Quatre instinctively move as if he wanted to reach out and touch him and then carefully rein that impulse in and hold his arms wrapped around himself. "I believe ZERO reads our subconscious impulses and creates from it the best case scenario probabilities using not just what our conscious mind thinks of as best case, but our subconscious, too."

"Then we're all lucky we still have a planet between Mirialdo and myself." And Dorothy. He didn't know enough about Quatre yet to be sure. "I had my scrappers retrieve Epyon for me."

"Don't use the ZERO system if you can help it," Quatre said immediately.

If he could help it. "I spent hours in the Epyon system, tweaking it, improving it. It showed me I had no future." He took another sip of tea. "I'm in no shape for piloting right now."

"Good," Quatre said. "Instead you can tell me what your real aim is and maybe we can think of some more human solutions.”

Real aim. Real aim. "Unfortunately, it's just what I told you. Get this shambles of a unity government to the elections. Change policies that need to be changed, things I didn't have the support to change before." He'd achieved so much for the world in such a short amount of time, and now everyone was still looking at him to do more, to move heaven and earth again. To set a new course.

"But what do you hope to achieve in the long run?" he asked again and it was frustrating that everyone believed he had it all mapped out.

"I..." He shook his head, and lowered his teacup. "Peace. If you want anything more detailed than that, I'm afraid I expected to be dead. I didn't plan for any of this."

"But you planned for peace," Quatre pointed out. "And what does peace mean to you?"

"I don't know. I planned for other people to have peace." He finished off the cup of tea, and picked at the treats on his plate, feeling irrationally angry, and knowing there was nowhere for it to go. "I know what it is conceptually. I'm picking up the pieces of things dead relations wanted to bring to the world and hoping I get it right."

"Hmm, maybe we need to solidify what the aims are practically," Quatre mused, seeming to recognise it was time to back off. "But that will take some thought. I'll meditate on it."

"What they are practically." He felt that anger spike, and brought a hand up to the bridge of his nose, breathing slow and deliberate. It was irrational, and Quatre was young and full of hope and drive, and he was just tired and gutted.

Of course, he saw the barely suppressed flinch and Quatre looked away a moment. "But maybe another day," he murmured softly. "I think we might need to rest."

"I think you're right." And if he dozed off right there with things on the data pad unanswered and didn't manage to drop his teacup, it was quite all right.

* * *

It was not going to be easy, being General Khushrenada's aide-de-camp deep in the heart of OZ while his own 'heart' was waking up again. Quatre had sat by the fireplace for a while after the man had fallen asleep, meditating on things, on what he was learning. Treize had resumed work as if that spike of anger, low simmering rage hadn't ever occurred, brought him into plans again in a calm way that made Quatre wonder if that emotion had been touched off by whatever memory he'd touched.

He'd made a mistake in making that connection, because he wasn't in control of his empathy and now nobody was in control of anything and it was going to hurt because Treize, under that cool calm surface, was an emotional wreck to equal any of the Gundam pilots.

And here he was, with this sense all raw and strained in the middle of what was like a room of shattered glass suspended mid explosion. He sighed a little. Sleep was going to become rare, because it felt like Treize spent most of his sleep drowning in nightmares that sent those emotional glass shards spinning unpredictably and he couldn't stop it breaking through his attempts to shield.

Heero would have told him he was a fool. But Heero, Duo, Trowa and Wufei did not live with this active empathy of his, and could not understand.

He needed to look at that research and he had an opportunity. They didn't have a strategy, not a solid one, so he had a chance to help draught one up. He was a capable strategic mind, he could possibly be a capable operational mind and perhaps this was a way to bring about the ideals he had fought for and tackle the root causes of war without lives being lost.

Treize seemed to know what he was and wasn't as violently opposed to it as Quatre has feared he would be. His brother -- who probably represented some unknown number of those metaphorical shards of glass -- had researched it, left documents behind, and that brought Quatre's focus to his quarters themselves a little sharper.

Two smallish bedrooms, two bathrooms, one large study. The passthrough between the two quarters were closer to the master bedroom on Treize's side, and the larger of the two bedrooms in what had once been the children's suite.

He decided to investigate more thoroughly, find the documents but also to look for clues to the minefield he was in. He abruptly wanted to know whose room it was that he was sleeping in, or if Treize was in his parents' room or what had been his own.

So he started from the smaller bedroom that he had been sleeping in and checked the walls, the decoration, relaxed a little and let himself pay attention to the details. All of the furniture was made of well-cared for antiques, but they were worn and had definitely been in use. The paintings on the wall were scenery, Earth scenery, a painting of horses; there were books in the bookcase, language, history, books on the colonies and poetry. 

When he found some of the notes on Newtypes he realized that this must have been the brother's room. He touched the small folder. There were handwritten notes in there and a peculiar sensation started pulling at him somehow. He'd never had any reaction to objects bef-

No. That wasn't true. Sandrock for one, so alive to him, and his violin. There had been incidences but this was unusual.

Items imbued with emotion. The handwriting was in French, a neat script, and he could read the words or feel the pull of the object telling him that there was mourning in the pages, curiosity and a feeling of inadequacy that made his own chest ache familiarly. Sibling rivalry, but something low key and familiar to Quatre. Vingt hadn't been the family favourite.

The content... well, he would read that later. He wanted to feel his way around. He wouldn't be at all surprised if there was a security camera or bug somewhere in his room.

He roamed looking for a feeling, stopping at an item here and there and... Vingt it seemed was practically the definition of a lost soul. Everything told him of someone striving to find their place, feeling insecure.

He'd been a success, though. By all outside markers; he'd briefly led Romefeller, and had shown every sign of outstripping his older brother in terms of ability to wield power before his assassination. From a historical perspective.

The person felt different, and there was no real person alive to reassure the way there had been with Heero. Vingt had lived and probably died with a yearning feeling of being on the outside.

All that was left now were echoes on hollow inanimate objects. He shivered slightly and picked up the notes to read them. Thirty minutes later, he was frowning and his head was whirling at what he found in there. The speculation that the colonies would evolve a newtype human, a superior being... could that have fuelled the oppression from Earth in the first place?

Documentation, too, on the Yuy family. It was hard to say if it was crowd compulsion, or simply being able to sense the mood of a group and turn their language appropriately based on what they were sensing.

And there was a handful of paper ripped out.

He touched the ragged edges and just felt or sensed a faint whisper of Treize's mental scent. He had ripped it out then. Was it something he didn't want people to know?

Perhaps he too was a Newtype; the fanaticism of his men, the vision they bought into wasn't dissimilar to that from Heero Yuy. Different methods but the following and zealotry was very similar.

He seemed to be nothing like Quatre, though, if Quatre was a newtype, and Treize had immediately pegged him as such. Was it just charisma, and the man hadn't wanted the speculation or...

He needed to find more about newtypes, and Treize could perhaps find a way for him to read more about them safely. He had told Quatre to talk to him after reading Vingt's notes.

And then there was the curiosity in what would be in the room next door. If the smaller room was Vingt's, it went without saying that the larger room in the children's suite had been Treize's; that the man had relocated into the adult's suite in his own adulthood.

He hadn't been forbidden to go in there; he could have had it as a room if he wanted to as it was larger, but...

He found it curiously hard to step over the threshold.

It was larger, and the furnishing was very similar to his. It felt forbidden somehow, tense; the occupant hadn't liked the room, and there was a steeped misery in the place. It had been abandoned at first opportunity, and the clothes in the armoire were small; there were a couple of abandoned uniforms, and they couldn't have fit anyone older than twelve or thirteen.

His head hurt as he stayed there, the feeling layered like a symphony of emotions. A deep bass undertone there he didn't recognize, a thin reedy oboe tone of loss, a violin choked under percussion and... too much, he needed to be out of there. Fear and panic made him leave, panting from just being there.

It was a relief to step back into the hallway, to breathe normally again. And Treize's new master bedroom was on the other side of the hallway, through the subtle pass-through door between the suites.

The feeling was just something he couldn't identify, something that had lingered. But Treize hadn't felt like that, so whatever it had been was over. Just embedded in the room.

He didn't like that at all. He hesitantly headed to the Master bedroom, keen to explore, but keen also not to experience anything like that again.

The master bedroom didn't feel anything like that, thank god. It felt worn, comfortable; it smelled like it was lived in, like leather and roses and cologne and laundry, and there was no noise. There was sadness, but it wasn't a swamp. More like a habit, and it wasn't overwhelming, just a suggestion. There were shorts and a t-shirt laid out on the bed.

"Hello. Have you found out anything interesting?" The man was leaning against the door to the ensuite bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips. And that was it, just the towel around his hips and freshly placed bandages along his side and face.

"I was just looking around," Quatre replied. There it was again, a tugging need to just... stop the man from hurting, something that had started with that first impulse to stop his pain. But he couldn't, he must not because he had promised. He was getting better at not reacting obviously. "I found the notes you were talking about."

"Excellent! He was diligent in his research." He still hadn't moved, was just watching Quatre. His pupils were a little dilated, possibly from the painkillers, and he crossed his own arms over his chest. "There are reference books somewhere that I'll have to find you, from around 140, 145 or so. What..." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm sorry for what you must be feeling in this place."

"I'm fine," Quatre said, bringing his smile up. "Don't get cold on my account. I shouldn't have barged in uninvited."

"It's fine; I'm accustomed to having no privacy. It gets burned out of you after a while. What did you find?" He seemed comfortable, even though it was a weird position to be having a conversation in.

His body was distracting, even without the pull to touch him that seemed to be growing every moment he was in his presence. "Well, I wasn't aware Newtypes had been in the consciousness of the Earth leadership hierarchy for so long." He hesitated, trying not to mentally trace over each scar on the other man's body. "It made me wonder if the prospect of an evolved human might have led to some of the restrictions on the colonies."

"Some of them were probably driven by that fear, yes." Some of them were thin and sharp and well healed, and others looked messier, burns and crush injuries long healed. He had an interesting pattern on his back, too, that he'd seen that morning, long healed. Treize lifted his eyebrow at Quatre. "You can touch them, if you're curious."

"I am but I don't know what might happen if I do," Quatre declared, clenching his fingers to stop them reaching out. The feeling burned there, ignited by his interest and aching like something in him was just on the edge something involuntary. "I have never had a reaction like this, not a need to touch." When he shared the cell with Duo, he wasn't aware of things but they had ended up sharing the bed as a comfort. Just sleeping, though he didn't feel at all rested whenever he woke, more hollow in some way. It made him wonder if he had been doing the same then even unwittingly.

"The easiest way to answer the question is to test it. But I always have been reckless." And it would be easy.

Very easy. He stepped forward almost without thinking and his right hand was reaching forward. He forced himself to stop and lower it, feeling an ache building and a sense of urgency clamour in his mind. His hand was literally shaking with the force of his will that he had to bring to bear. "This can't be right, such a compulsion."

Treize grabbed his hand gently at the wrist, and brought Quatre's hand up to touch an odd straight line scar that ran near his abdomen on the right side. "Then why do you feel compelled?" 

The flash of emotion and intense images made him gasp but he lost awareness of his hand lying on skin as memories bloomed around him. A Leo cockpit, the lights colouring the interior, and adrenaline jolted as there was an impact and the side shredded, and metal sheared like a tin can, sliding over skin.

No, he was in Treize’s memories! He had promised not to do that, and he tried to pull back but he was shaking with the effort because the compulsion wanted to soothe the memory somehow. To make it less vivid, to take the heat out of trauma. There was excitement associated with the wound, and fear of dying, and excitement about dying, and then an urge to get out of the cockpit.

He was trapped in this moment with Treize and somehow knew if the memory were loosened from the scar, the scar would heal away to nothing. But he didn't know how to do that and the memory was looping again and again; he felt the surge, and in self defense just acted on instinct, wanting the pain to stop for him and Treize. There had to be some physical discomfort in there as well but the golden energy he was imagining went straight for the memories first and he could see the physical discomfort lying beneath. Strange that it was only with the loosen feeling that some of it seemed to start to reach to the injury itself.

It looped again, and he pushed harder, took in the details and focused on drawing out the pain of it. He'd been young, his first battle gone wrong, and the fear and excitement was almost overwhelming that time, and then Quatre pushed harder and he was staring up at the General, whose hand was loose on his wrist that time. It felt like something with the texture of glass had been drawn out of it in Quatre's mind, and there was an odd euphoric rush as the golden energy surged, a warmth that settled low for Quatre. "That..." The man's face was flushed. 

It felt too good. Quatre was mortified. His body had reacted as well, and from the looks of Treize, he had, too. "I'm so sorry, I just reacted. I was in it, and I reacted."

"What did you do?" It wasn't accusatory, but curious, and he hadn't let go of Quatre's wrist, leaning closer now. "That was interesting. Corinth."

"I could see what caused it, feel it happening," he answered still blinking away after images. "As if it was stuck in the scar. And I was stuck with it and had to stop from feeling over and over so I just reacted and it felt like it was being pulled away and ...it felt very good when it did." He was blushing intensely, his reaction still evident.

"We'll have to work out what's going on with you. And be careful where you look." It was embarrassing, and Treize hadn't let go of his wrist when he felt the man's other hand touch over Quatre's hip, settling lightly on top of clothes.

That felt different. Warm and interested, and imagining. A meld of imagined touches that made him shiver, a fleeting impression of a hunger for something more.

Something embarrassing was going to happen very soon if he wasn't careful.

"Have you been kissed before or will I be committing a worse breach of etiquette than I already think I am?" Treize lingered just a little closer. "I told you, I have a terrible reputation and it's justified."

"Do you want to risk me getting further inside your head?" Quatre replied a little shakily. "I can't hold back, Treize." There had been kisses and more before, but only one or two with more feeling behind it. Trowa and Duo, Heero once until he got up and left and hadn't spoken to him for a month.

"I think the question is, do you want to risk seeing inside my head?" Treize lingered in close, and perhaps it was the drugs or the odd relief of unpicking an old injury, but his intention was clear and his breath smelled like toothpaste.

Quatre should have pulled away, but it was like a magnetic attraction and the moment he touched lip to lips he was lost.

It was overwhelming, a deluge, a tsunami of... everything. Blood, pain, anguish, despair threatening to overload everything as the intimacy involved in a kiss opened the floodgates. He needed to master this and it wasn't that different to mastering the myriads of potentials in ZERO. He had done that, he could do this, only ZERO deadened the emotion and this was all about emotion.

This was a crash course in how to survive whatever was going on with him now. Sink or swim as he fell deeper.

There was so much, like spinning underwater surrounded by glass. Every time he moved he brushed something sharp and horrible. Breaking through atmo backwards, that excitement and fear rising up again, back on fire, seeing the other Leos recede in the distance, safe, relief; coming at Shenlong, the relief and the determination and the ecstacy of the last duel with Wufei before the world slammed into pain and shock and electricity; running stumbling down the stairs in that very house, his stepfather howling outrage at him, and Vingt looking small and wretched about it; smaller and in his bedroom, kissing a woman Quatre couldn't recognize; another old house, more recent, a fistfight with a Romefeller guard turning into something more heated and distressing, and he couldn't break contact.

It was building, building, crushing him and every time he fought, it hurt and stabbed him with something new, but what else could he do? He was pinioned and crucified by memories and how could one person contain so much hurt?

Enough. People thought him soft because he was gentle and kind and cared, not realizing the strongest people of all were those who could be that way after the horror of war. He created a shield, one like Sandrock would use, flexible and made of repelling energy and disentangled himself from the depths of it all. He could do this, he could control his reactions and stay sane.

He willed himself to be a force of healing and pleasure rather than pain and floated slowly free back to consciousness as an image of golden light surrounded his ascent back to awareness.

Quatre was lying on the floor, flat on his back, and there was a pillow shoved under his head, a heavy blanket thrown over his body. Treize was beside him on the floor, and it was terribly disorienting for a moment. The other man had gotten dressed at some point, put on a t- shirt and possibly shorts, and sacked out beside him beneath the same blanket, an arm tucked under his head, twisted a little so that one thigh pressed against Quatre's thigh. The air on his face was cold, but the blanket was very warm.

He was dimly aware of a vague sour smell of vomit, too, and that someone had pulled the bathroom trash pail out within reaching distance. 

He felt a little feverish in the way that sometimes doing a lot of mental exertion could do, and his head hurt with the pounding relentlessness of a migraine or a hangover.

But he felt...like there was something he had put between him and the things he was sensing. That bodily contact was the muted hum of something, like the distant sound of traffic, miles away.

Had it been him being sick? Or Treize? He felt like he'd been electrocuted, like when the Gundams took heavy damage and it arced and snapped over them and he was thirsty.

He tried to move and a gasp escaped him as his head protested instantly.

There was a soft mumble in French, and Treize turned into his own arm, groaning to himself for a moment before he started to push himself to sit up. "You collapsed."

"Are you okay?" Quatre asked worried he had done something to the other man. "Did I hurt you?"

The laugh that answered that was a bitter sounding scoff, and there was something wild to the smile on his mouth as he got himself sitting upright. "It's going to take a couple of days to shake that off. You certainly hit the opposite of a highlight reel, didn't you? Let me get you something to drink." There was still a lamp or two left on in the study, so the light was dim and distant and warm, but dark enough in the bedroom to perhaps doze back off.

He was exhausted and Treize had been hurt by it, but the compulsion to touch Treize had faded. Quatre wanted to stay close and he couldn't explain why, though he was sure a bond was there now. Just as he had with Trowa, Duo, Heero and even Wufei.

The man got to his feet stiffly, and wandered into the bathroom, turning a light on. Quatre watched, lying down, as Treize filled two expensive looking crystal glasses with water, and rummaged something out of the medicine cabinet. A couple of pouches of some powder, and one was dumped into each unceremoniously, swished around a little before he came back to Quatre and sat on the floor again. It was a ridiculous juxtaposition, the fierce, elegant General sitting on his bedroom floor in casual clothes, handing Quatre what was probably a hangover cure in a glass that was expensive even by his family's standards. "Electrolytes; you'll feel better after you drink it."

"Thank you," he said, drinking down the mineral tasting liquid, grimacing a little. "I, I feel I must apologize, Treize. I'm so sorry. I'm in control now, I understand if you don't want me near you."

Although he had literally laid next to him, so maybe he did.

Treize downed his in one continuous drink, so didn't answer for a moment. "If I pushed away everyone who knew some part of what you saw, well. I'd have a large number of bodies to bury." He drained the dregs from the glass. "Not a great deal you don't know about me, now, is there?"

The memories were sitting there, part of his own recollection now, but like his own memories they were not at the forefront of his mind all the time.. "Perhaps not," he admitted. "But they aren't... right there. Does it worry you that I know?"

"Which part do you think should worry me? That I find it exciting to want to die in battle?" There was a shift in his eyes, and his voice softened when he said, "Or that my mother saw too much of my father in me and everyone in my family hates me for it? Someone had to be the scapegoat. I'll be it again if I have to. There's really nothing there to use against me."

"I would never use it against you," Quatre answered immediately. "I'd want to help you, not... hurt you." There had been enough hurt in his life. He managed to sit up properly. "Lying on the floor isn't good for you. A bed would be better."

"I couldn't get you off the floor earlier," he said wryly. "I kept imagining Watson shouting. It's well past one by now. Couldn't remember if you took your medications or not before we embarked on that adventure."

"I'm... unsure," Quatre replied, unable to clearly recall that part of the evening. He smiled a little. "I think I can manage it now. Shall we go to your bed?"

He surprised himself a little with that suggestion, but it felt important in some way.

It wasn't what Treize was expecting to hear, and perhaps that was why it was important. "If you're comfortable, yes." The man gathered up the empty glasses, and stood up again, nudging the trash bin well away. "That was damn exhausting. I'm sorry you went through that."

"I think so," Quatre replied. "Let us both agree that we're sorry what happened happened." He pushed up and got up unsteadily. "I made you sick. Do we need to get John in?"

John... suddenly the man felt a lot more familiar to him, as if he had known him years. Brief flashes of exactly how well he had known him rose up from his mind.

Treize was quite shameless in how many lovers he'd had, and most of them were still talking to him, which at least implied amiable partings. Still, there was assuming that the two had been lovers and there were the odd flashes of the man's face and body, and the way two people could actually fit in a cockpit while naked, with a little effort, skin on skin and sweat and ecstasy. 

"I threw up because I don't enjoy reliving sexual assault in vivid color. I think he'd consider it a healthy reaction, one of my few." That uncomfortable laugh again, as the man set the glasses on the edge of the sink and grabbed up the blanket from the floor.

"I understand," he answered and had to fight the upwelling of images and feelings that came with that mention. The atmosphere of the room was explained at least.

The man shook the blanket out and tossed it back over the bed again before pulling the duvet down. He looked as tired as Quatre felt, and there seemed to be no awkwardness about the invitation to join him in bed, on Treize's part; Quatre had just, just vividly experienced him in stages of déshabillé, to include bent over what he thought might be a stairwell in the house, demanding the man behind him fuck him harder.

He should be embarrassed like he had been before, but not anymore. He got into the bed and looked at Treize, feeling some of the attraction still lingering.

"You would think I'd learn my lesson." he got into the bed slowly, skimming a hand over Quatre's bare arm as if to test that he wasn't going to be burned.

"I think I have mastered a little of it," he said. "Like a barrier, a muffling effect." As Treize touched him he smiled a little. "I think it's okay."

"If you do that again, they might be buried but there's some happier stuff in there." He leaned in, took a soft brief kiss, leaving a faint sweet mineral taste and no horrible glass sharp shockwave as he laid down beside Quatre.

"I know. It's ready to come to the surface again," Quatre said, shifting himself closer. He knew Treize slept better with someone with him and that he would actually rest. "I hope you'll allow me to help it happen."

"We'll see." That was skepticism and tiredness, and the man shifted closer, just barely touching him. It was an odd thing to know about someone, but it was definitely true and correct. He'd had an easy string of partners over the years, and there were things that needed to be talked about, unpicked in the man's head, but he couldn't judge the man for wanting the warmth of another human nearby in sleep.

It was a simple thing he could give him, and one he was willing to do even if he didn't feel like he owed it to him. He leaned in closer, seeking his body heat, making it clear that it was okay now.

It would be okay. He was sure of it.

* * *

He had the staff bring up breakfast, which was rather a brunch by the time they got up. He had a word with them to clean up the bathroom as well, made sure that Quatre ate, and then slipped into the bedroom to change clothes into slacks and a shirt.

It had been a terrible and surreal night.

He'd played it down, but half of the things Quatre had unearthed had been things he worked very hard never to think of, and now he'd relived them in what felt like real time, over and over.

Quatre had been smiling in the morning, and talking as if nothing had happened, but he had dark circles under his eyes and looked pale even for him. He wondered how good he was at pretending, and how often people fell for it. To his relief, he didn't seem inclined to pick over what had happened, but was willing to carry on as if the previous evening had been nothing much. Eventually... Eventually, Treize knew he needed to deal with it. Or perhaps never at all, because what did you say? What was there to say? Everyone involved was dead except for him and his stepfather, and his stepfather's reaction had been to try to beat him to death and then finally do something other than ignoring it.

There just wasn't anything to be done. He checked the edges of the dressings and then grabbed his datapad to rejoin Quatre in nominally attempting to rest.

He was being quite poor at that; resting was not something he took well to, though he did enjoy the luxuries of a hot tub after a long time in a mobile suit.

He wasn't sure what Quatre was doing, but he looked intent and he was very quiet.

It was a shame he couldn't get into a hot tub or any tub until the wound in his side had healed. "I've arranged a video call for you with pilot 03."

Quatre blinked and then beamed at him in a way that showed how he could really look and he could at once see how easy it would be to be deeply attracted to him. Already he wanted to see that smile again. "You have? Thank you! I... truly appreciate it. Thank you."

"Duo as well. Noin will have him on for a call sometime after two. Time zones." He handed Quatre his data pad, and moved to snag some of the files he'd printed off for himself earlier. "I was hell bent on keeping you on limited networks but perhaps that's not viable. I'll get you a datapad that hasn't been tampered with."

"This means a lot to me, Treize," Quatre said, sounding very grateful in a way that might have appeared suspicious without the revelations of how deeply he connected to others.

Having experienced it, he wondered if he felt that way about everyone he worked closely with. If he snapped into their minds and had stripped them all bare at some point or another. "It's basic human contact. Just dial Dorothy's number, it's attached to her contact."

He could hear Quatre go immediately to do that, the faint ring of the video call trying to connect, but the pilot didn't seem inclined to try and disappear into his room. He just sat where he was, so Treize receded to a couch on the other side of the room, his sheaf of papers in hand as he tried to make notes and read.

The challenge of it was that words weren't making much sense, except in French, and it made his head hurt. He heard Quatre exchange pleasantries with Dorothy a moment and then the delighted "Trowa!" he gave when his friend appeared. Surely he was more than a friend or was this just what Quatre did?

"Quatre. You look tired." There was a smile in that voice, and it warmed his heart to hear. Young love, a little less battered than what he experienced. The pilots had all had a hard go of it, just as scattered with glass as his own, and... and when had he picked up that the two pilots were fond of each other? Had Quatre mentioned it? 

Maybe it wasn't as one way an empathic connection as he had thought.

"I'm still recovering from my injury," Quatre sounded apologetic for worrying him. "And it's been an eventful few days. How are you? How are things with Dorothy?"

"Well. She is..." Trowa spoke slowly, carefully, and Treize tried to focus on some English. "Genuine. General Khushrenada hasn't done anything to you?"

"No. He's been nothing but kind," Quatre answered without hesitation. "Were you worried?"

That was a roundabout way of asking if he missed him. Or maybe he was asking about the picture.

"You looked bloody and beaten. You still have a black eye." He did, and he carried it like it was a badge of honor. Treize kept his mouth shut. "I'm worried."

"The picture, " Quatre replied, nodding as if that was completely explicable. "The blood wasn't mine. Treize was more injured than anyone gave him credit for. There was a medical emergency and I was the only one with any medical training on board. The emergency landing was rough and I hit my face. I'm fine on that front Trowa, but I've been worried about all of you."

"You don't need to have been." The young man sounded genuine, and Treize could have said as much. Dorothy was no murderer; she was a bright young politician who had suffered too many losses over the years.

"You know me, I can't help it," he replied with a shrug. "What have you been doing?"

"I'm on her staff, finding secrets for her in what's left of Romefeller." He seemed to neither approve or disapprove; he'd been the pilot who had infiltrated them so well, right into the heart of OZ.

He started idly annotating the papers out into French, word for word translation so that the sentences might start to come back together. 

"I'm helping Treize with the elections at the moment." Quatre smiled. "Which is vital to keeping this peace alive."

It sounded like he believed it. Maybe he did, it was true. If the elections didn't happen then everything would fall apart. Someone would have to step up and take control, and of their unity government he was the only person with the power to do it if the rest of it collapsed.

"Do you know if you're going to the conference in Sanc next month?"

"I suspect we might but nothing has been finalized," Quatre said glancing over at him. "If you're there, we might get to actually meet. Have you spoken to Catherine or anyone at the circus?"

Treize gave him a thumbs up, which hopefully he would assume meant the conference. He had that long to manage to be up and around and functioning. "I have. That surprised me, that she let me call her. They're on tour again." 

"That's good. You'll have to catch up with the lions at some point," Quatre answered. "They probably miss you. Do you know if everyone else is okay?"

Quatre did seem to be wholly focused on seeing if others were okay. He couldn't see if there were gestures and body language, but he kept idly eavesdropping as he marked words down slowly. "Yes. I've seen Duo, and he's seen Heero. Dorothy had meetings with Noin yesterday, on the realignments." And that one thought he was being clever, subtly passing information Quatre already knew.

Quatre smiled again. "That's good. Hopefully I'll get to speak to them later. I wouldn't be at all surprised if we ended up at the elections in the same place," he said. "I think making sure the elections happen are the best thing any of us can do right now."

Now that was as close to an order as he'd ever heard Quatre give, but it was done so lightly and gently that it seemed to become the other person's own thought.

It made him wonder if being a NewType ended with Empathy and whatever the hell had happened the night before, or if it was more. If it was what Vingt had thought it was, a leadership skill if wielded correctly. He'd childishly thought Treize had it because he was good with words, because he listened when people spoke, because he was patient and could take a thought and model it forward into consequences. Because sometimes he could make someone stop and listen to him. But all newtypes had a soul sense, a... something, a something intangible. They were all almost kind souls; Yuy had been one, his father had been one. People who were open to the whole world, to their detriment.

There was nothing special about thinking carefully; where there was something special in what Quatre was doing. Subtle, very fascinating, and he heard a soft shift in the man's voice in response. "Yes. Has the general been promising you freedom after the elections? Noin and Dorothy both have. I don't know if it's to keep our cooperation or an actual plan."

"I believe it is their true intention," Quatre answered. "There are other factors at play that might be less happy about the plan in general. If they are truly trying to create the lasting peace we fought for then it's possible they might need some of us longer. But I do believe it would be a choice."

A place for those of them who didn't have a home to go back to, if they wanted to stay. Quatre was the only one who had a home to return to, and now possibly Trowa, which no one had suspected. But 01 and Wufei both were at loose ends otherwise.

"They're trying to set up an intel group to support things as they demilitarize. Peacekeepers for the peacekeepers."

"I suspect a unified Peacekeeper force for Earth and Space that answers to the law will be the final evolution of that thought," Quatre mused. "That would be something interesting, a worthy place for those who want to fight for peace to give their energy and military skills."

There was a great deal of work and negotiation to be done before it happened, of course. One couldn't wave a wand and voila; the change that was being pushed through to the ages allowed in the military was one of the base level things that had to be done first, and it would be a tooth and nail fight every step of the way.

"Hmn, yes. I missed you. It's good to see you."

"Tell the others that I really am okay," Quatre said. "I know they don't always believe me when I say that."

"I wonder why." That sounded terribly, sickeningly fond. He needed to send Quatre on his way back to that before he did anything terrible to the pilot. "You care too much about everyone else except yourself. Be careful, please."

"I will!" Quatre replied. "It's made my day to speak to you, but I think we'll be allowed to speak again so I better not talk too long."

Trowa didn't seem to be a chatty type all told; it would be a wonder if they could talk for long.

"Another day. I have people I need to look into. Goodbye, Quatre." Simple, to the point, just what one wanted in a spy. Someone who blended in.

Quatre signed off, and looked at Treize, the happiness almost tangible. He had a brief moment of wishing someone would be like that when he gave them a video call. "Thank you Treize, I really appreciate that."

He was making no headway at all in his translation, so it was for the best that he could get his pad back. He tossed the papers back down on the coffee table, tamping down frustration. "I'll have someone from comms bring you a fully functional device today," he said, standing up to take it back from Quatre. "Since there's not a damn hope in keeping you all separate."

"Are you feeling all right?" Quatre asked. He sat up, poised as if he wanted to come over, nearer to him, but holding himself back.

It was a little like watching a prairie dog scouting out in the deserts of New Canada. "Hmn? Why?" He stopped by Quatre and took the device back, flipping through a couple of screens to find his documents.

"I felt something. A pressure feeling around your head." Quatre nearly mumbled that, looking down as if afraid of what he might say.

How strange. How very very strange.

Treize tilted his head, and swallowed. "I have a concussion; it's making reading a challenge." He technically wasn't supposed to be reading yet, but perhaps that prohibition was to stop people from discovering unsettling things like a sudden loss of language.

"I'm worried it's an after effect of last night." Quatre frowned. "Maybe it made the concussion worse? Should we have you looked at again?"

And what did he say to that? That the pilot had certainly emptied all the file folders on the floor, but any damage to the filing cabinet had been done before he got there. "One is structural damage and the other psychic damage; I wouldn't conflate the two." He flicked the operating system over to French, and then brought his email up again. "I've been struggling with this since before Wufei failed to kill me. The left side of your brain processes language, and apparently one should not take blows or electrical jolts to it." 

"Oh." Quatre had that look again that he had the night before. "Maybe I should go to my room for a bit," he said hurriedly, and Treize could see him clench his fingers up tight.

"No." Perhaps Quatre wasn't accustomed to being told no. "We need to talk about this."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." Quatre gave him a pleading look.

"I am." He moved to sit back down, just because he was trying to not wear himself out. "What's going on in your head?"

"I'm trying to respect your privacy and not have a repeat of yesterday," Quatre said, his voice sounding a bit strained. "I'm not trying to avoid the question just... I'm feeling a surge of compulsion to do something about your head and... and I don't know why, and I'm trying to fight it."

That gave him pause, but he set his data pad down, watching Quatre. "What does this compulsion feel like?"

"An urge to touch you with a building pressure," Quatre replied. "Not unlike the feeling you get holding your breath and you need to breathe." He certainly looked uncomfortable now. "I thought maybe not being close it might fade."

"Is it fading?" The uncomfortable expression on his face said otherwise, though he was on the other side of the room. "This cannot happen during a meeting, or your secret will be out."

He swallowed. "I will try to master it," he agreed with determination and sat practically folded up, his arms wrapped around his drawn up knees, taking long slow breaths.

"That isn't what I was saying." He rubbed at the side of his jaw that he could actually touch. "Come over here. I'm usually very explicit in my choice of words for a reason. This cannot happen during meetings, which we are not in."

Quatre looked up at him hopefully and then tried to come over in a normal way, but he looked one inch away from launching himself towards him. "Please can I touch.. No, I don't know what to do for the best," he said. "Maybe I did make things worse. I don't want to make things worse. I don't understand any of this. "

Neither did he, and if it was a replay of the night before he was going to be much more than just unwell. "At least we're sitting down this time."

Quatre sat next to him trying very hard not to touch him. Hard enough that he could see perspiration on his brow. "I will not be forced to hurt someone by my own instincts."

"Unfortunately life doesn't always work that way," Treize said, taking a moment before he leaned in to try contact again. Perhaps it would work better than the last one, which had been a shock of horror and pain. He grasped Quatre's wrist, and brought his hand up to rest over the bandages.

Quatre's initial sound of protest became one of relief and for a moment he thought there was going to be a repeat of the night before, but he could feel it reined back. Then and only then, more of that golden feeling he had enjoyed from the simple head massage -- warm, delicious, melting away pain and discomfort and disorientation. It was sweet, soothing and mellow, the only images rising up were positive ones, fun ones, sensual ones and he could bask in this.

It wasn't terrible, an assault of violence. There were better times, moments of joy tangled into his life. He had a memory of teaching Dorothy to dance that was the oddest thing, he hadn't thought about it in ages. He'd been back from Lake Victoria, still on his instructor's tour. He could feel that moment again, his own delight in Dorothy's excitement, the two of them moving lightly and recognizing the same grace and economy of movement that he used himself and her transparent joy at his praise.

It wasn't much different than what they were doing now; she knew the steps, she was good and graceful, and keen, and she just needed a few guiding steps to feel more sure in herself and her skills. He let his mind wander in it this time, and it wasn't a painful transition at all when he opened his eye.

His head felt clearer than before, less fuzzy around the edges, less like he'd tried to get himself killed. He wasn't sure how long Quatre had been carding fingers through his hair but that was what he was doing now, and very reluctantly taking his hands away.

"You don't have to stop." He wanted to grill Quatre on what was different this time, between this time and the last time.

"The compulsion has faded but..." he carried on. He sounded a bit tired so presumably it took some energy to do whatever it was. "I do like to touch."

"Why does one time bring up something like that, and last night was... Horrifying." No point in mincing words, and it was easier to ask with a hand petting through his hair.

"I've developed more control," Quatre answered carefully. "Instead of dropping in at the deep end, I've managed to hold back to a little bit at a time and going slower. If nothing else, I've calmed down the agitation I caused."

He made it sound simple, as if he hadn't been the one saying just before he had no idea what was going on.

"Are you working this out quickly, or are you very good at making it up?" Treize leaned into the touch, eye closed for a moment. His head felt better, again, though he didn't think it would magically have fixed an ongoing problem.

Quatre chuckled. "A little of both?" he suggested. "I knew, in self defense, I had managed something yesterday. A barrier of sorts, and I mentally focused on restricting the flow of whatever this is. I don't know how to block the compulsion though. I wasn't expecting it."

"What... perhaps why do you have this compulsion, since that seems to be petting me." He felt oddly peaceful, and that was fine. He would figure it out, what was going on.

"The compulsion is linked to your pain, physical or emotional," Quatre stated confidently enough. "Touching seems to be the direct way of whatever this is interacting with your energy. Does it feel okay?”

"It was good. Did you see it? Do you always see it, or?" He wondered if he was ending up being Quatre's lab rat.

"I was concentrating on fixing whatever I had done and the pain of the concussion," the pilot replied. "Treize, this is completely new to me, this manifestation."

He laid his hand over Quatre's fingers, and lowered the man's hand from his head, watching his face thoughtfully. "We have a week to work it out, then, before I resume duty."

"I think I can get a handle on it. I just hope it's something that can help rather than hinder," he said.

They were sitting rather close, and Treize took a slow breath. There were a thousand things he needed to do, but he also needed to rest. And they could... figure this out. It could be an asset. "And with the other pilots.

"Yes. I think I can help all of them too," Quatre agreed. It was overly optimistic and maybe unrealistic, but that pretty much described 04 in a nutshell.

He could tell it was going to take work to get them both on the same book, never mind the same metaphorical page.


End file.
